


Swallow

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Human Bill Cipher, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Maybe OOC, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spit Kink, mouth spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: “What next, Pine Tree?”And Dipper says back, “You should spit in my mouth.”
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98





	Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. I was minding my own business and my brain hits me with this, full picture, 4K, the works, and then I get this feeling that if I don't write it into a thing, then it's gonna bug me forever, building itself up and up and up...
> 
> So I wrote it. I guess.
> 
> Random, no-name au, fuck it - Bill's human (or... something, idk, don't care). 
> 
> TL;DR: no point, no plot, just spit kink

Dipper couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t self-conscious without his clothes on. In fact, this particular scenario should have been one that would give him even _more_ anxiety. Yet, the only thing he could focus on was the feeling of Bill’s warm hand curled around his dick.

“So, I’ve got you where I want you,” Bill says, perhaps in a way that would’ve normally been a touch too smug, but again: his palm, Dipper’s dick. It’s kind of hard to care about that stuff right now. “What next, Pine Tree?”

And Dipper says back, “You should spit in my mouth.”

That… might have been a thing that Dipper’s thought about a couple times. Not in a way he thought was important. Or even like he thought Bill was the spitting type – despite his desire to see Dipper both squirming and humiliated. He doesn’t know where it’s come from, honestly. It’s just… a thing, maybe. And.

It’s so natural to his head that when he says it out loud, it doesn’t click that maybe it shouldn’t have come out of his mouth. That maybe it should have stayed all nice and tucked away in his head. Somewhere safe, somewhere where he couldn’t be judged for it.

Also, Bill was touching him, so… his brain is pretty fuzzy from that to begin with.

Bill pauses.

Bill actually pauses so long that Dipper notices. It takes what is probably a while (he has no true idea), given the fog he has to wade through to realize that the rapid movements of Bill’s hands and eyes and mouth are gone. It takes him a bit (maybe more than) to realize the statue that Bill’s become.

The moment that he _does_ notice, is the same where the shame begins to set in.

“Uh,” says Dipper, stupidly, eyes now averted. _Crap, crap, crap_. Say something, he needs to say something. Maybe apologize? No, Bill would make fun of that. Especially if that was what pulls him out of his stupor. Weird that Dipper can actually shock him enough into this kind of state. He’d be proud if it weren’t for the fact that he’d just told this demon to _spit in his mouth_.

He starts to ramble, and maybe an apology will show up in there, who knows, certainly not Dipper. He doesn’t have control over his mouth anymore, apparently. “Actually, forget I said that. Because, like,” he laughs, nervous, fake, “That’s pretty gross, right? And—”

Bill spits on him. His face.

Bill spits on his face, obviously aiming for Dipper’s mouth.

Most of it doesn’t even land inside since Dipper was in the middle of talking. Some does, though, falling in between his lips and onto his tongue. It’s strangely cool and so, so wet (which, _duh_ ).

The fact that most of it is on his skin, rather than his tongue, does not stop Dipper’s junk from twitching in Bill’s grip. Bill’s fingers flex around it, as if in response to its jolt.

“Ah,” Dipper says, mindlessly. Because, well.

Bill spit in his mouth (kind of).

And now he’s _kind of_ not exactly capable of higher thinking. All that fog he just fought through? It’s back, and this time more than ever before.

His tongue moves without conscious action, swiping through the mess dripping down the corner of his mouth. His sight is pretty glassy, but he thinks he’s looking at Bill. He thinks Bill is looking back at him, but that’s about as far as he’s registering.

After he licks away the rest of Bill’s saliva, his mouth kind of hangs open, like an invitation –

Bill spits on him again, this time the mark landing the target – right between Dipper’s wet lips. This time with his hand actually moving, an upstroke that has the heel of his thumb tucking right against the crown of Dipper’s dick.

He makes another sound, this time less word and more squeak, jolting forward and into Bill. He reaches out, grasping Bill’s side as he attempts to balance himself. The saliva pools on his tongue, which he curls, cupping it to make sure it doesn’t spill out. He doesn’t dare close his mouth, not wanting to swallow it just yet.

He wants to _savor_ it.

His eyes burn and he has to remind himself to blink, but basic body functions are kind of becoming harder to take care of. Especially now that Bill has developed kind of a slow, easy pace with his fist that Dipper is becoming more and more distracted by.

Then there’s another hand, twisting into the curls on the back of Dipper’s head and –

He’s moaning, maybe, but it’s muffled by his still-open mouth –

Pulling his head back, forcing his face towards Bill’s again, and –

Dipper can see this, he can see it clearly now. Bill’s got this serious, bizarrely serious (especially for _him_ ) look on his face. Like he’s making sure he does everything just right here.

It’s hot. Not that Dipper would ever say that, especially to Bill’s face – lest his ego grow even bigger and carries him away like an overzealous balloon.

But, yeah. Dipper, controlled by his hind brain, where the only goal was to make sure Dipper finishes, thinks it’s a pretty hot look on him.

A demon with a focused look like that, especially trained on a person, probably shouldn’t be. But. Dipper’s never been normal; he’s not really controlled by _shouldn’t be’s_ , even if he used to wish he was.

Here he is, staring at Bill, as he gets stared back at, and that attention, so laser-focused, would typically make him nervous, but. Haze. Fog. Fuzziness. He doesn’t ask questions. He just stares back. If Bill wants to look at the way his spit sits so, _so_ nicely on Dipper’s tongue, then – by all means. Dipper will let him.

But it’s Bill who decides to talk, evidently not content to do as much. Oh well.

His grip on Dipper’s hair – and by extension, his scalp – tightens and he shakes Dipper’s head with it. Dipper follows the motion easily, though he sways in place at the pin-pricks of sharpness that come from it. He probably also shouldn’t like _those_.

“C’mon,” Bill cajoles, and his voice is different too, not too amused, smug about this. Dipper blinks at it. Is he affected by this, too? “You’re going to have to swallow that if you want any more.”

Dipper obeys without hesitation. He relishes the way it slides down his throat. Bill’s thumb presses firmer into Dipper’s dick, wordless praise. Dipper shivers. Once all of it is gone, he opens his mouth again and sticks his tongue out to show his proof.

To ask for more.

Bill’s eyes flash, something bright and shiny darting across them before flooding dark, dark, dark.

He grins, but it isn’t his usual, wide, wide, too many teeth smile that he does when he’s tormenting someone (usually Dipper). It’s lopsided, open in the corner. Dipper can see a hint of tongue peak out, kissing his bottom lip. Quick and barely there, but Dipper misses none of it.

_Oh_ , Dipper thinks, in what is going to be his last coherent thought for the night, _he is_.

_He’s into this, too_.


End file.
